Insensitive
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: Sherlock always seems to be insensitive, especially where John is concerned. Awful summary, I know. No smut.


Insensitive

Summary: No matter how he tries, Sherlock still manages to be insensitive. Especially when John is involved.

Rating: T

AN- Just a little Remembrance Sunday one shot.  
My little victory fic for the return of my computer, though I still won't be back into my unsually routine for a while yet.

Enjoy

B  
x

* * *

Sherlock knew something was wrong, it was impossible not to see that something was drastically wrong. John tried to hide it from him but it was there. The detective wanted to ask him but he got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, one strong enough to stop him from questioning. The blond doctor hid himself behind the paper, trying to steer himself clear of his flatmates hawk like gaze. Sherlock went and made two cups of tea, placing one beside John without a word. The man looked down at the steaming object next to him in confusion. The detective rolled his eyes.

"I may not know why you are upset but it takes a fool not to see that you are. I also get a strange feeling that you won't want to talk about it with me so I won't force the issue." John stared at him, but the detective couldn't quite place the expression. "I'm not always as insensitive as everyone seems to believe." He added, in a quieter voice. Silence descended on the flat again. Sherlock waited in agony for John's reply.

"You really don't know why?" He asked. The detective hesitated but shook his head. The doctor sighed, to be honest, he would have been an idiot to think that the man would know why. He thought about being cryptic but that would just open the door to more questions and he really didn't want to answer any more.

"It's remembrance Sunday. I can't help but think of the friends I've lost." His voice was biting, much more than he had expected. Sherlock blinked, also surprised by the severity. Without an explanation, he ran out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

John had no idea what any of that was about, his flatmate probably realised he had a corpse to experiment on or something like that. It seemed to be the only reason Sherlock ever did anything. And now he had the whole flat to himself. After a moment, he switched the TV on and turned to BBC 1. He'd promised himself that he would watch this year. Last year he tried and he just couldn't, he ended up switching off and finding his way to the nearest pub.

* * *

The service was just finishing up when Sherlock returned.

"John, come with me." He ordered. The soldier barked a laugh.

"You never stop, do you?" He snapped. "I thought that perhaps you had gotten a clue, but no. No, the most intelligent man on the face of the earth doesn't know anything when it comes to emotions, you are clueless. Completely clueless." His voice seethed. Sherlock growled lowly and gripped his flatmate by the arm.

"Outside. Now." He commanded. For some reason, John complied and the two men found themselves outside the flat. Sherlock didn't stop there though, walking down the street with the doctor in tow behind him.

* * *

John only understood what was happening when they walked into a cemetery. Sherlock dotted between the grave stones like he had been there every day for an entire year. Finally, the detective stopped. He handed John a small poppy wreath and stepped back. The soldier looked down at the grave stone.

_RIP  
__David Holloway  
__1984-2011  
__He died doing what he  
__loved.  
__We will all miss you._

John stepped forward and placed the poppy wreath at the foot of the grave stone. He bit his lip as he saluted the grave stone. David was his only friend in his squad, the only man he had let himself get attached to. Being the medic, he decided it was best not to form attachments but he couldn't not like Dave, the man was just loveable. The doctor had just been released from hospital, they decided not to tell him that David had died until they deemed him to be in a stable enough condition to take it. That was what hurt more, he didn't get to go to the funeral. He didn't even know where Dave had been buried. Until now.

John turned back to Sherlock and signalled him over with the slightest of movements. Within milliseconds, the detective was by his side.

"Thank you." The doctor said numbly, allowing himself to fall into his flatmates arms. Sherlock didn't know how to give proper comfort, not when it mattered. John matter to him, he couldn't deny it. Which was why he wanted to make it better. He was insensitive, he tried not to be but he was anyway. John sighed into the detectives shoulder, bring his arms round the too thin waist.  
"Thank you." He repeated. "I needed this." Sherlock's hands had found their way around his friend.  
"It's okay." He replied awkwardly, unsure of everything.

It seemed like hours had passed before John smiled and pulled away.  
"Come on, lets go home." He said, eyes tearing but not crying. Not yet. Sherlock estimated that if he looked at the grave once more he would not be able to stop himself from breaking down. The detective nodded and began to guide his friend back out of the cemetery.

* * *

John didn't know how Sherlock managed to track down his friend, or why, or even how he knew who David was. The doctor had never spoken about him, the memories were just to painful to bring into conversation. In all honesty, he didn't care. It didn't matter how the detective had managed it, the man was capable of miracles. What mattered was that Sherlock had tried, he wanted to make things right. The doctor looked to his flatmate, smiling when he caught the man's eye. The detective smiled back, before quickly looking away with a blush. John shook his head, it was like living with a young child, emotions wise. But they were getting better, everything was getting better.


End file.
